


By Virtue Fall

by azla



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Not AU, Rose whump, Slavery, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-05 15:00:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1822642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azla/pseuds/azla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose has been a slave in House Ozur for as long as she can remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I keep telling myself not to start writing anything, and then this happens and I have a few hundred words that I just have to post and just a vague idea of where it's going.

  
_Since you would save none of me, I bury some of you._  
\- John Donne

She stopped in front of the door and hesitating slightly, lifted her right hand and knocked sharply.

A loud voice said something, but she couldn’t determine the words through the thick wood. She hoped it had told her told come in.

Quickly, she wiped her damp palms on the back of her skirt, and opened the door. Her eyes closed briefly and she reminded herself to breath, look calm and most of all, _don’t look them in the eyes._

She repeated this, the words echoing in time with the patter of her soft-soled shoes on the grey marble floor.

From under her eyelashes, she could tell that the other person in the room had turned around when she pushed the door open, and was standing by the large window. The sun illuminated the shape and a tall shadow spilled across the vast expanse of the floor

_Don’t look them in the eyes._

She stopped an appropriate distance from the window, just before she stepped on an expansive silk rug, with a twisting pattern of red, purple and blue.

_Don’t look them in the eyes._

She focused on it, how the colors reminded her of a sunset, how each thread twisted and changed and interlocked, the thickness of the fabric.

As she catalogued every aspect of the rug, she repeated the message that had been drummed into her.

“Good morning Mr. Smith. I’m Rose and I will be your servant during your stay here.”

 

* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=50019>


	2. By Virtue Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose has been a slave in House Ozur for as long as she can remember. Not AU. Rose Whump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been fighting with the commas for this chapter. That's the one thing about the bloody English language I don't get, how to use commas correctly.
> 
> * * *

  
Rose woke slowly, the world shimmering around her. For a moment, she lay on her back, eyes closed, and suddenly, the noise around her hit her eardrums and she startled.

All around her was a flurry of activity, bodies stretching, looking for clothes, yawning, belching, groping, talking. At first, the sounds almost made her dizzy, but like every morning, she got used to it. More than 40 people sleeping in one room made noise unavoidable. It was impossible to get a decent lie-in, but on the other hand, it was also impossible to sleep in.

She rolled off her thin pallet and grabbed her black work dress from the floor beside it. It was clean, since laundry day was only yesterday. She pulled it over her shift and she was done for the day. She dragged her fingers through her short hair and untangled a few knots.

Rose hesitated. Surely it used to take her longer than this to get ready in the morning?

An elbow knocking her squarely in the ribs dislodged the thought, and she suppressed the urge to make a rude gesture at Torfi, one of the footmen.

People were starting to make their way towards the sturdy steel door, lining up in front of it. Rose joined them and smiled at Aldis and Asta, the twins. They were almost in their teens, both with bouncing black curls and quick, nervous, dark eyes. They grinned back at her, Aldis showing off the large gap between her front teeth.

Voices quieted as footsteps approached their door from the outside. Rose took a few hasty steps to the left, until she was standing in a clump of other women.

Like she did every morning, she took a deep breath, worried for a second that the door would not open, that they would be kept in here forever.

A memory rose up, unbidden, of great big showers and towers of smoke, but she shook it away.

A metallic grind, and the great steel structure swung open.

As the guards indicated that each group should follow them, a new day began.

\--

Rose was ushered into one of the toilets and quickly sat down and did her business. There were no stalls, simply a row of ten seats next to each other. The seats were metal, cold and smelled strongly of disinfectant, and Rose shivered a little.

She washed her hands and ate a tooth-cleaning pill. A familiar shade of auburn came up next to her, and she nodded at Svala.

They both knew better than to speak to each other yet, but Rose raised a questioning eyebrow at the bruise visible on Svala’s wrist, bared as her sleeve rode up when she washed her hands.

Svala simply jerked her chin in response. Her wide eyes were calm, almost impassive.

The guards banged their metal staffs on the ground, alerting the women that their time for morning ablutions were over.

Seated in the servant dining hall, at the lowest table, Rose quickly ate the grey bread and greyer gruel provided for her.

Rules were laxer here, so the murmurs of voices rose around her.

“What happened then?” she said, looking across the table at Svala.

“Nothing bad,” Svala murmured. Rose resisted the urge to throw her plate at someone and bit her tongue to keep quiet. Svala usually responded better to gentle prompting.

She was right. After a moment, Svala added, “It was Steinkel. He stopped me on the way to the dining hall. My knees are a bit bruised, that’s all.”

Rose nodded but before she could say anything, the other woman reached over the table and put her hand over her fingers.

“Don’t. It was nothing, truly.” Rose saw in Svala’s eyes that she believed it.

Rose raised a hand to claw at the itch around her neck.

Too soon, the guards banged their staffs again, and it was time to work.

\--

Hours later, she was on her knees, using all of her might to scrub the vast stone expanse of the courtyard.

It was dirty, hot work, and her shoulders and back ached.

She could feel eyes on her bum as it swayed with her movement, and it rankled her, again, to be watched, guarded, imprisoned.

A large hand closed on her neck, dragging her back until she was sitting on her heels. Warm breath feathered over her cheek as a mouth leaned towards her ear.

“Watch it, little girl. I don’t like your attitude.”

The hand pushed her to the ground with more force than necessary, and her chin scraped on something sharp. She pushed herself to her knees and bit her lip. She didn’t need to look around to see that it was Regin, one of Steinkel’s chums, who’d blessed her with his company.

Rose’s fists clenched, and she reminded herself that rebellion really, really wasn’t worth the punishment. With a sigh, she reached for her abandoned scrub brush and resumed her work.

Hot air filled with sand blew in over the open space, sticking to the wet patches of the courtyard, ruining their labor.

\--

It was nearing sunset, and Rose and Svala were polishing windows. For once, no guards were watching them. In smaller numbers, they were not deemed dangerous enough to demand constant attention.

Besides, everyone working in Ozur House knew the price of not finishing their assigned tasks.

It had been an ordinary day, as days were. Work alternated during weekdays, following a strict schedule. Some days were easier than others. Once a week, they did laundry and washed their bodies. Other days, they made do with the sinks in the lavatories.

There were always around 40 slaves in the house, any fewer and the work was too much to manage, no matter how hard they were driven. The 40 alternated. Some died. Others were sold. A select few were freed.

It was all Rose had ever known. All she could remember was life in Ozur House. A vague, hazy, dusty life, stretching endlessly backwards and forwards, everyday the same. No adventures for her. Slaves didn’t have adventures.  


* * *

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.  
  
This story archived at <http://www.whofic.com/viewstory.php?sid=50019>


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose receives a special assignment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote. *happy dance*
> 
> This is, funnily enough, one of the few stories where I've actually written down the entire plot, a list of characters and so on. I just... never write it. 
> 
> If I continue to write, we will be reaching some chapters with explanations, and some with the Doctor soon.

Dagfinn, the head of the slaves, stopped Rose with a quick gesture of his head when they were all lined up outside the doors to the sleeping hall. Rose’s face was scrubbed as clean as it would get, and her belly was as full as it ever was. 

He was a long-nosed man, tall and whipcord lean, with short-cropped dark blond hair. Rose hated him.

Dagfinn never actually hit any of the slaves, or demanded favors from them or did anything else than to give out orders, but Rose knew, she just knew, that he was always responsible for the thousands (or so it felt, at least) of petty cruelties that faced them daily. His hand was in all of it. 

“The master is expecting a guest tomorrow,” he said without preamble. “A very important guest. Much is dependent on his work here, and he is said to have a liking for blondes. “

Rose’s blood froze. It wasn’t unusual for guests to receive assigned servants during their stay, if the master felt the guest required a show of wealth or extra buttering up, and the implication was always that the servant was there for any need the guest may have. It was common enough on this world, and even free servants were not exempt. They may not like it, but they took whatever gifts and money they could get in return. But a slave was not to own any property whatsoever, and they were far more replaceable than a free servant.

Rose had so far stayed under the radar (and wondered where that expression came from), and avoided being assigned as a personal servant. Gosta, the gentle manservant who always sneaked Aldis and Asta treats, had never spoken of what had befallen him during the weeks he served the master’s visiting cousin, but he had never flinched at raised hands and voices before. 

“You will report to me after the noon hour, and I will give your further instructions,” Dagfinn continued. He looked expectantly at Rose who bobbed a curtsy, and Dagfinn turned around, content that his wishes would be respected.

Somehow Rose managed to force her feet to move, taking her into the sleeping hall. Her blood seemed to have turned to ice, pumping sluggishly through her veins, and everything was hazy, as if she suddenly needed glasses. Her fingers looked blue, the nail beds almost grey. Dead, as if all the oxygen had left them.

She made it to her cot and sank down. Eira who occupied the cot next to Rose’s reached over and laid a soft hand on Rose’s shoulder , her black eyes worried. 

“’M to serve a guest tomorrow. An important one,” Rose forced the words out through her numb lips. 

Eira’s hand jerked, her fingers suddenly digging into Rose’s flesh. Her face, however, betrayed no reaction.

“You will survive,” she said after a moment’s silence. “Others have.”

Rose nodded. There was no point in pretending things would be all right. The best any of them could hope for was to live another day. 

She slept with Eira and Svala curled around her that night, pressed so closely together one could scarcely fit a hand between them. It didn’t completely remove the chill from Rose’s bones but made her feel less like the living dead.


End file.
